The Nightmare
by twostrandsofmelody
Summary: Christine has a nightmare and the Phantom is there to help. AU, slight established relationship of the sorts.


Her Angel of Music had been steadily composing a piece of music that he swore was _Untitled_, yet she could hear him faintly singing lyrics beneath his breath as he tweaked the progression of chords and the notes connected. She had come to visit him after rehearsal, amazed that he seemed in awe that she had actually come to see him. They had been playing this game for weeks, though there was no true relationship behind it, she'd sworn that she desired to be with him in a more intimate way. Of course he was too shy about such intimacies to acknowledge that he felt the same way. She only found his romance in the words his lips kissed and the notes that his fingers caressed. No matter how desperately she longed to feel his lips, misshapen or not, pressed against her own.

She moved away from the organ bench, sitting down on one of the velvet chairs that adorned his lair. He'd jokingly said once, that the chair made her look like a porcelain doll. It was a meant for a man who was tall like him, though he was nearly as lithe as she was; she was significantly shorter than him. Christine stifled a yawn, not wishing to make her Angel think that she was bored of his magical musical. In fact, such haunting melodies were forcing her mind to unwind that list little bit and she could no longer keep her eyes awake.

"_Once it has started, love lives on."_ She heard him sing as she let the calming tendrils of sleep and his caressing music wrap around her and pull into the velvety depths of sleep.

Somewhere in her blissful sleep she found her sweet dreams of kissing her Phantom transform into a nightmare. It was ridiculous to even fathom why she would dream of Meg waving a gun at her. The trigger pulled and the bullet pierced her chest

She screamed, lurching forward and tumbling out of the chair. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she trembled. She'd barely been on the floor before her Angel and swooped her up into his arms, holding her close to him and whispering sweet nothings in a vain attempt to calm her.

"I had a nightmare."

"Why would you have a nightmare?" He questioned his tone harsher than he intended to sound. Of course he'd never been faced with a shaking and crying woman before. Much less, one that seemed bent on clutching his shirt and burying her face against his chest and making him want to scream at the contact.

"There's no need to cry Christine." He rasped, awkwardly running his hands up and down her back.

"I dreamed that I died." She started to sob, the feel of a bullet piercing her heart had felt so real. She believed that her white gown should be stained with her blood. "You were there. You kissed me." Her lips trembled as she looked up at him with her doe eyes.

"Christine." He shook his head, combing his fingers through her curls. It was still miraculous to know that he could touch her and not fear her being repulsed. Though he wore his mask, without the mask she'd be cringing in terror. "It was a nightmare, nothing more."

"We had a son."

"Impossible." He doubted that his wicked seed would even have the capacity of aiding in the creation of an innocent creature, let alone the thought of ever allowing himself to lie with Christine. It was imposturous.

"You kissed me." Christine repeated, her eyes darting dangerously to his lips. She was shaking like a leaf in his arms, her knuckles white from the hold she had on his shirt. She leaned up and tried her luck at kissing him, but he turned away quickly, causing her to plant her lips on the white of his mask.

"_Christine_." He chastised, pulling her away from him. "I have discussed this with you."

"But it felt so real." Christine whimpered, wiping the tears away from her cheeks. "Just once."

"I will not allow it." He didn't allow himself such carnal pleasures of the flesh. His flesh was too wicked to enjoy an angel's lips upon it.

"Will you sing me to sleep?"

"You should go back up to the dormito-" He'd barely got finish his sentence before Christine was on her feet, her small hand in his, leading him towards the swan bed.

"I would like to sleep down here tonight."

He sighed, watching as she slipped beneath the silky black sheets, a stark contrast with her white gown. He sat hesitantly on the wing of the bed, "One song and then you sleep."

"Sing me the song you were writing."

"It's unfinished, there are no lyrics."

"I heard you singing them." Christine took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "Please." How could he resist her sweet soprano voice and a face with tears still streaming down it?

It only took a few measures of the song to send Christine back to sleep. Her face softened and her trembling ceasing. He watched her sleep, captivated by the little fall and rise of her chest as her breathing slowed to a calm, steady rhythm. His curiosity was driving him insane. If only had had experienced the dream that she had, experienced the intoxicating bliss of her lips pressed against his. But that was why it was her dream and not his. She'd experienced the feel of other's lips pressed against hers and he had not. His dreams could not piece together that feeling without knowing.

When Christine awoke in the morning she would not know that her Angel had stolen the softest kiss from her sleeping lips, the slightest brush had crossed between their lips. It was all that he would allow himself and even then it was too much. He didn't even deserve her hand in his; let alone the feel of a ghost like kiss. He wrote passionate lyrics, yet they were the lyrics of a man who yearned to know those lyrics – but he never could. To know that passion would be a nightmare.


End file.
